Five years ago I created my first class for McPherson College, entitled, “Yoga and Community in the Classroom.” Classroom teachers were able to take my Yoga class for credit to renew their teaching licenses. The class taught teachers techniques to use with students in their classroom, but it also provided teachers the opportunity to experience the practices. For classroom teachers it was a win-win. They fulfilled a requirement to renew their teaching license while they simultaneously experienced a sense of renewal and well-being.
Over the years, I happily created many other classes for the college—mindfulness, self-compassion, and my latest endeavor—positive neuroplasticity training. Every time I created and taught a class, I knew that I was changing the life of a teacher and their students for the better.
But last Friday, Wisconsin passed legislation that reversed this trend of expansion of classes for the college. This new legislation made taking classes for credit elective rather than required for teacher license renewal. As I reflected on the ramifications of this change, I felt as if all of the work and enthusiasm that I had poured into creating classes for the college was slipping from beneath my feet like sand being washed away by waves. I felt disappointed, disillusioned, not in control of this new turn of events.
Over the years, I happily created many other classes for the college—mindfulness, self-compassion, and my latest endeavor—positive neuroplasticity training. Every time I created and taught a class, I knew that I was changing the life of a teacher and their students for the better.
But last Friday, Wisconsin passed legislation that reversed this trend of expansion of classes for the college. This new legislation made taking classes for credit elective rather than required for teacher license renewal. As I reflected on the ramifications of this change, I felt as if all of the work and enthusiasm that I had poured into creating classes for the college was slipping from beneath my feet like sand being washed away by waves. I felt disappointed, disillusioned, not in control of this new turn of events.
Of course I have my gratitude practice, and I know that doors closing can create windows of opportunity, but nevertheless, I found myself wondering, “Isn’t there something constant for me here amidst this sea of change?” As I pondered this question and felt my breath moving in and out, I decided that I needed faith—a rock to hold onto amidst this sea of change.
So tonight I went to the beach. I took off my socks and shoes, and I placed my feet in the wet sand. I felt the waves washing over my feet, and the sand being pulled out from beneath them. And then I found a rock that was just the right color and weight and texture to hold onto. My faith. My purpose. The reason I am here. And I held the rock in my hand as I felt the waves pull the grains of sand out from under my feet. A constant amidst the change.
I walked up and down the wet sand, and then I walked back to my car barefoot. Feeling the cool night air on my skin and the changing terrain under my feet. Hearing the sounds of the crickets as I watched the changing sky behind the trees. Feeling the rock in my hand. My purpose. My constant amidst the sea of change.
I walked up and down the wet sand, and then I walked back to my car barefoot. Feeling the cool night air on my skin and the changing terrain under my feet. Hearing the sounds of the crickets as I watched the changing sky behind the trees. Feeling the rock in my hand. My purpose. My constant amidst the sea of change.
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